East Coast vs. West Coast Virtual 50K: Racing Against My Phone

We're living in crazy times right now and I think we all know that.  The bottom line is no one knows anything about anything, and everything is changing every day.  The sooner we can all accept that, the better off we'll be as we progress through this period and slowly return to normalcy.  Despite all the sanctioned ultras I had signed up for in April, May, and June being cancelled, the innovative minds of some cool race directors have conceived the idea of doing virtual races.  What that means is the race is done solo by each participant anytime and anywhere they wish, as long as they are following the local social distancing rules.  The run must be recorded using Strava, Garmin, or some other tracking system and the data must be uploaded to ultrasignup.com to receive credit for finishing the race and getting a finisher's prize.  I loved the fact that the ultramarathon world was doing what they could to keep people's motivation and spirits up during hard times, so I decided to sign up for a few virtual ultras in hopes of capturing at least a small element of the magic of running an actual race.  The first of these races was a virtual 50K that I decided to do entirely on a road in the mountains.  It went a little something like this:

I hit the road at 2:00 in the morning and once I left the Bay Area, I drove through the towns of Manteca, Escalon, and Oakdale, before making the left turn in Oakdale onto highway 108 and heading up into the dark mountains towards Sierra Village.  I love the beach but the mountains are my true happy place.  After a busy couple of weeks, doing a virtual 50K in the mountains seemed like the perfect way to unwind.  As I drove through the main intersection of Jamestown, I was caught off guard by a guy standing alone in the dark on the side of the road.  He turned around and looked straight at me as I drove by, and I thought I saw him extend his arm with his thumb up, but I wasn't quite sure.  "Yeah right, like I'm really going to pick up a hitch hiker in this small ass town at 4:00 in the morning" I thought to myself as I chuckled.  "I'm not trying to get murdered out here".  As I drove up the dark winding road, I turned on my brights so I could detect the turns more in advance.  As I approached Mi Wuk Village, I dimmed them when I saw flashing red lights in the darkness up ahead.  It was a group of cyclists making their way up the twisting road.  I felt somewhat relieved realizing that I wasn't going to be completely alone out here in the dark.  It wasn't long before I arrived at the turnout off the road just outside of Sierra Village where I always park my car during visits.  It was pitch dark when I parked and shut off my headlights so I switched on my headlamp to navigate around my car as I made preparations for the journey ahead.  I try to take a minimalist approach to running and I don't like running with a pack, but similar to last time, I was going to be running a self-supported fifty-kilometer distance that would take several hours.  In sanctioned ultras I only run with two handheld water bottles that collectively hold a quart of liquid and I rely on aid stations every five or six miles as a source of food and refilling my water bottles.  But in this instance, I had no choice but to carry all the food and water that I would need on my back.

I shut my car door behind me as I stepped out into the dark and stretched.  The volume level of the door shutting startled me, and I was reminded of how quiet and peaceful it is out here in the mountains, which is precisely why I love coming out here.  This particular area of highway 108 consisted of one side of the road lined with pine trees and mountain wilderness, the other side presenting an exquisite view of the mountains on the opposite side of the canyon that rested below.  It was shortly before 5 AM so the pre-dawn sky was still filled with shining stars.  I threw my pack onto my back, switched on my flashlight, and turned on my headlamp to the flashing light setting.  I knew that I wouldn't be running in the dark for long, but I wanted to make myself noticeable to drivers, especially on this desolate mountain highway.  With my flashlight, blinking headlamp, and the blinking red light that I had attached to my pack, I figured I'd be pretty hard to miss.  Once my Strava was queued up, I began running along the dark highway up a small incline.  The route I was running was an out and back with rolling hills, but an overall net gain in elevation towards the turn around point.  My flashing headlamp lit up signs and trees along the road as I progressed forward.  My music of choice was Motley Crue's Theatre of Pain.  The tone of that album to me is perfect for a run in the mountain wilderness in the dark.  About halfway through the album the sky transitioned into a pale dawn and the sun soon began restoring the green color to the tops of the surrounding pine trees.  After running uphill for what felt like a while, I approached an overlook to my right where there was a curve in the road and a large turnout that offered a stunning view of the High Sierra.  Despite only being six and a half miles into my run, I decided to sit on a rock and enjoy the view for a few minutes while I ate some trail mix.  This was a popular spot for cars to pull over and admire the view, and as I approached, I noticed a car with a girl lying down in the passenger's seat.  The sun had now made it's way into the sky and was filling the distant mountains with vivid color.  I was startled when I heard a guy's voice behind me say "hey" in an authoritative tone.  I turned around and saw that he was not talking to me, but to his dog, a colorful Pit bull who seemed friendly and curious.  He and the pup got into the car where the girl was lying down and continued along the road.  I did the same a few minutes later.  As I progressed further along the highway, I ran along the shoulder of the road and, when possible, off to the side of the shoulder, which was composed of packed down dirt, gravel, and bristles that had fallen from the pine trees lining the road.  This softer surface provided more cushioning, so I ran there as often as I could.  I decided I was ready for music again, so I put on the New York Dolls.  This choice was fitting because after all, this race was called the East Coast vs. West Coast Virtual Race.  Runners could complete their distance anytime throughout the month of May, and it was intended to be a friendly rivalry race (at least in my mind) for which coast could log the most miles.  Of course I was representing California, but I love the East Coast.  I love New York City and thought about how much I wanted to visit again once COVID clears up.  I've been there a couple of times and I love how much culture, character, and personality the city has.  I don't give a damn what people say about New Yorkers.  They are cool people.  In my experience, if they insult you that means they like you.  And if you insult them back, it's much more fun than taking it personally.  I look forward to the next time I can go there and eat delicious food at hole-in-the-wall restaurants, walk around the diverse neighborhoods, and visit local coffee shops and bars.  Of course, the East Coast also includes Boston, Philadelphia, D.C., and several towns in Maine, New Hampshire, New Jersey, the Carolinas, and Georgia, all places that I'd love to visit eventually.  East Coast vibes drifted through my mind as I jogged along to Johnny Thunders' bluesy punk riffs and David Johansen's New York accented singing cranking in my headphones.

After the Dolls album finished, I decided to unplug for a while and just enjoy the peacefulness of the surroundings.  I passed through the small town of Cold Springs, which included a gas station, Mia's restaurant, and a ski and snowboard rental shop.  Other than that, the road had been lined with pine trees with the occasional meadow and vista appearing in an opening.  I had ridden my bike here a handful of times and driven along this stretch of road numerous times on my way to Dodge Ridge, so it felt pretty cool to be running for a change.  Even though it was still early in the morning, several cars were making their way along the mountain road, giving me plenty of room as they passed by.  A red pick-up track glided past me and made a left turn onto a road about a tenth of a mile up ahead.  As I approached, I saw the truck had parked.  The driver, a middle aged man, stepped out and walked towards the road as I passed by.  "How're you doing?" he called out.  "Good man, how are you?" I responded in a friendly, but somewhat skeptical manner.  "I'm good.  You live around here?" he asked.  Great.  This is what I was afraid of.  This guy had to have been either an off duty sheriff or an uptight local who didn't want visitors in his town during the shelter in place order.  I wasn't going to lie to the guy so I answered honestly.  "I don't.  I'm up here from the Bay Area".  I didn't think I was doing anything wrong by being out here, but I thought for sure I was about to get lectured by this guy.  Instead, he said "Ah, okay, yeah we're from the central valley.  We saw you running and thought you lived around here and wondered if you could tell us how to get to Beardsley Lake".  I laughed in relief and explained that the only lake I knew in the area was Pinecrest Lake, so unfortunately I wouldn't be able to help.  The guy seemed friendly and said thanks anyways before jumping back into his truck and continuing down the road.  As more miles were covered, I approached the turnoff in Pinecrest that led to the Dodge Ridge Ski Area and Pinecrest lake.  I ran down the road past several cabins and campgrounds for as long as I could until I was forced to turn around by a barricade in the road just before reaching Pinecrest Lake.  Strava indicated that I had run just over a half marathon distance, so I decided to go back the way I came, then click off an additional 4.6 miles when I reached my car back in Sierra Village.  What concerned me though, was my phone had dropped from ninety percent battery power when I began running to forty percent.  I put my phone on airplane mode when I took a break at the overlook at six and a half miles, so I hoped that my battery would last.  In order to receive credit for the virtual race, I had to submit my Strava recording to ultrasignup.com.  It would have been a big letdown if my phone had died while trying to complete the fifty-kilometer distance.

As I headed down the road back towards my car, my concern regarding my draining phone battery heightened.  Despite being on airplane mode, the percentage continued to drop at a steady rate.  Doing the math in my head, I established that my phone was either going to be depleted all the way down to less than five percent by the time I finished, or it was going to die.  At times I almost felt like I had to pick up the pace and race against my phone battery, so to speak.  The possibility of my phone dying continued to irk me for a few more miles until I finally came up with a solution;  I would be approaching my car at around 26.4 miles and surely my battery would last that long, even if it was running low.  I decided that at that point, I would take a ten minute break to charge my phone, drink some water, and regroup.  Once my phone had a little more juice, I would hammer out those last 4.6 miles and complete the distance.  Realizing that I now had an answer, my anxiety melted away and I ran with a more carefree attitude.  I felt like listening to some music again, so I took out my iPod and put in my headphones.   I was in the mood for some EDM, so I put on Calvin Harris.  The rhythmic songs carried me along pleasantly as I enjoyed the views that I saw on the way to Pinecrest for a second time.  Cars continued sporadically passing me on both sides of the road, and I would occasionally nod at the occupants of oncoming vehicles.  I thought more about the East Coast vs. West Coast context of the virtual race and thought about where New Yorkers would be running as an equivalent to where I was.  Maybe they would run in the Adirondacks or even through the city.  Either way, I was excited to be representing the West Coast and was thankful for my beautiful surroundings.  "California!" I cheered quietly to myself as I ran along.  When I finally arrived back at my car, I had covered 26.4 miles as expected, and I immediately opened the door, sat down, stretched my legs, and plugged in my phone.  I was tired, but not too sore, I had peed a few times which meant I was staying hydrated and the temperature had been just right.  As I sat there sipping from a plastic water bottle, I pondered the idea of downgrading to the virtual marathon instead of the 50K.  I had already covered that distance anyway, so what was the harm in doing that?  But then I remembered that unless I was having a major off day, which I wasn't, I needed to stick my what I originally had planned.  Because you're on your own during a virtual race, it can be extremely tempting to quit because you feel exhausted or sore.  There's nothing there to make you feel like you need to keep going.  No other runners, no volunteers, no finish line, etc.  There's no pressure and quitting doesn't consume you with the same level of guilt as a sanctioned race would.  My phone was now at twenty-three percent, which I knew would last the final 4.6 miles.  It was time to get this bad boy done.  The final stretch began with an uphill climb.  I was exhausted so rather than running, I slowed to a brisk walk.  Moving at a slower pace, the temptation to stop lingered in my head.  But I had no excuses.  I was no longer racing against my phone battery, I wasn't in excruciating pain, and I knew I was fully capable of going the remaining distance.  The question was did I want to.  My mental toughness was now being put to the test.  Those last few miles are always the toughest, psychologically.  I finally crested the hill and after running down the road for a few more minutes, I checked my phone.  To my delight, I only had a tenth of a mile before I needed to turn around to complete the full distance by the time I returned to my car once again.  When I eventually turned around and began the final 2.3 mile stretch, I kicked things into overdrive and ran harder than I had all day, knowing that I was almost done.  I returned to my car with 30.9 miles on my Strava.  "Are you kidding me?!" I thought.  I ran as fast as I could for perhaps another hundred yards down the road.  When Strava finally hit thirty-one miles, the 50K distance, I threw my fist in the air and let out a celebratory cheer.  Once I stumbled back to my car I clicked "finish" so my data could be uploaded.  Even though my phone was now at twelve percent, my plan worked and I was thankful that the run uploaded on Strava successfully so I could officially get credit for the race, meaning they would send me a finishers prize and a shirt.  Funny enough, I realized afterwards that the virtual race only offered the 50K, half marathon, and 10K option, not the marathon, so it was all or nothing anyway.  After spending a few minutes regrouping and putting myself back together, I promptly hit the road for the two-and-a-half hour drive back to the Bay Area.  As I drove along sipping from a huge bottle of Gatorade that I bought at a gas station in Escalon, I reveled in a beautiful morning road run in the mountains.  It had been a great day, but I was wiped out.  I couldn't wait get back home and knock out for a couple of hours, take a shower, and eat a nice filling meal.

Hitting the Wall...Badly

2018 Minnesota Voyageur 50-Miler

When most people think of Minnesota, warm weather is not the first thing that comes to mind.  But on this day in late July the temperature in the Duluth area was around eighty degrees Fahrenheit, about average for that time of year.  I knew ahead of time what the temperature was going to be like and that there was a chance of rain.  What I failed to take into account was that fact that Minnesota summers are more humid than the the dry summers I was used to in California.  So, because I didn't think about this ahead of time, of course I didn't start eating salty snacks and swallowing salt tablets until after I cramped up so badly that I was on all fours, crawling backwards down a hill, thirty-eight miles into the Minnesota Voyageur.  Once I'd survived this section of the race, I gobbled down pickles, chips, and potatoes dipped in salt at the aid stations and drank often which seemed to help mitigate the cramping a little.  I chugged along through a steady downpour for the next few miles, and by the time I crossed the swinging bridge in Jay Cooke State Park, the sun had come back out.  With only three miles left to go, I thought the worst was behind me and I was home free.  Dream on, sucker.  The course was out and back, and immediately after crossing the bridge I remembered that the first two and-a-half miles of the trail, which I was now retracing, had a lot of roots, rocks, and loose dirt.  The rain had essentially turned that section of the trail into a two-and-a-half mile mud puddle.  At one point, I ran down a dip that was about seven or eight feet down and back up.  I lost my balance on the slippery terrain during my descent, and came crashing down, ass first, into the mud in the pit of this trough.  The fall immediately triggered another round of leg cramps and I was once again in a world of hurt.  I tried to get up but it only made the cramps more intense.  I didn't know what to do so I just laid there.  I must have looked pathetic lying there in the mud not being able to get up.  I didn't know how the hell I was going to be able to finish the last mile-and-a-half of this race.  I couldn't even move, and I still had to slide through another mile of this muddy mess before the course left the trail and followed a paved bike path to the finish line for the last half mile.  After a couple of minutes I came to my senses and started thinking more rationally.  "They're just leg cramps" I said.  "It's not like someone broke your legs with a baseball bat".  There was no way this race was going to end with me laying in the mud and having the letters "DNF" (did not finish) next to my name in the results because of some cramping.  I was better than that.  I mustered what energy I had left and pushed myself off the ground and onto my feet with my arms.  I continued on the muddy trail with reserve, slowing my pace, grabbing onto tree branches to keep from slipping, and occasionally stretching my legs to ease the cramping.  Relief and extreme elation kicked in when the pavement emerged.  I hobbled down the bike path and finally made a right turn onto a residential street, where I saw the finish line at Carlton High School at the end of the block.  As I got closer I could see my dad and sister, who had come out from Michigan, on the sidewalk cheering for me.  After another hundred yards of hobbling, the Minnesota Voyageur was finally in the books.   


2019 Tahoe Rim Trail 100-Miler

It was approaching 3:00 AM as I climbed wearily up the dark trail towards the Bull Wheel aid station.  I was going on twenty-five hours without sleep and had covered seventy-two miles of the Tahoe Rim Trail 100, my first 100-miler.  Within the last hour or so, exhaustion had set in pretty hard.  After ten minutes of sitting in a camping chair at the aid station unable to slip into unconsciousness, I stood up, thanked the volunteers, and disappeared down the trail into the night.  It was a beautiful, cloudless night in Tahoe, and the moon shined brightly overhead.  But everything was beginning to look the same to me.  The sky, the stars, the trail, the distant mountains, the trees, it all looked like one blur.  Then bits of songs and movie scenes began playing in my head and my focus deteriorated.  I was plodding along, unaware of my surroundings, caught up in the dream like state that I was now going through.  Then things got real very quickly and I stopped dead in my tracks.  What I saw, hanging from a branch right in the middle of the trail about twenty feet ahead, was a shining bright orange ribbon, one of many that had been marking the course every half mile or so.  You would think this would be a good thing because it meant that I was on course, but the problem was I had already passed by this ribbon thirty minutes prior.  There were no forks or turns on this section of the trail, so this could only mean one thing; I somehow got turned around and I had been backtracking for who knows how long.  I was in trouble.  How far back had I gone?  And how come I hadn't seen any other runners for so long?  Something was very wrong.  I began walking forward very slowly, almost as if I were afraid to approach the ribbon.  After passing by, I continued walking for about another minute or so, trying to figure out what I should do.  I would have liked to have waited for another runner to come by so I could ask them which way I was supposed to go, but there were none to be found.  I felt helpless and I finally decided to just stop.  Then I saw something in the distance that instantly caught my attention; lights.  Lights from other runners.  And they were moving away from me.  I started chasing them down, running in their direction.  I slowly began to realize that I had not gotten turned around at all.  I was going in the right direction all along, but the lack of sleep and fatigue had brewed up a storm of hallucinations and temporary panic.  I looked up and the sky was once again filled with stars, the moon cast a bright glow on the trail, and the beauty of a gorgeous night in the mountains was again upon me.  My senses were firing and I was more alert as I came over the top of the hill and looked on at the lights of Incline Village resting below in the distance.  There would be more battles fought from that point to the finish line, but in that moment, I reveled in my victory in the hallucination battle as I began running down the winding trail towards Diamond Peak. "Twenty-three more miles to go" I said.

2020 St. Croix 40 Winter Ultra 38-Miler

It was an absolutely stellar night in the Minnesota wilderness.  The only sound to be heard was my sled being pulled through the snow behind me, and I was enjoying the tranquility of the midnight winter air as the snow glistened in the moonlight.  Lights emerged in the distance and I suspected this was likely the checkpoint at mile twenty-two of the St. Croix Winter Ultra, where I would be required to bivy down as part two of our winter survival skills testing. Part one was at the beginning of the race where we needed to show that we knew how to boil snow for drinking water using a camping stove.  After passing the bivy test, I got the okay from a volunteer and prepared to head back out onto the course.  Everything seemed to be going pretty well and I was feeling confident.  Until I heard a volunteer say that the temperature was seven degrees below zero Fahrenheit.  I let out a burst of nervous laughter.  "Are you shitting me?" I asked.  "Nope, my car thermometer said minus seven.  You guys are badasses!" Two miles down the trail I took out my phone to take a selfie, just for the fun of it.  When I looked at the picture afterwards I was shocked and, quite frankly, a little terrified.  In the movie Goodfellas, after the Lucchese Crime Family robs Lufthansa Airport, the mastermind behind the robbery, Jimmy Conway (played by Robert DeNiro) essentially murders everyone who participated in the robbery for fear of them becoming rats and turning him in to authorities.  There's a scene where the police find Frankie Carbone, one of the robbers, dead in a meat truck, frozen solid.  That's pretty much exactly what I looked like in this picture, except I was smiling.  Since I had been outside in the cold for several hours and generating a lot of body heat, the warmth that my body was giving off had crystalized with the frigid cold air and now a layer of frost covered my beanie, my eyebrows, my eyelashes, the buff I was wearing around my neck, and the collar of my jacket.  Reality had set in.  It was seven below zero and I was out here in wilderness at 1:00 in the morning on a winter night in rural Minnesota.  During the pre-race briefing, the race director advised us that we would likely be "questioning our life choices" around the time that we reached the check point.  He wasn't kidding.  Suddenly, this didn't feel fun anymore.  It felt scary.  What the hell was I doing out here? If anything were to happen to me out here it could potentially be hours before I reached warmth and safety.  I would have to wait until someone found me, then the only way I could be transported to safety was by snowmobile.  I decided to stop running and walk so I could get my head straight.  After a few minutes I was able to wrap my mind around this whole scenario, and  I reminded myself that panicking in any situation in life, especially in the middle of an ultra, is only going to make things worse.  "This is exactly why we were required to bring winter survival gear" I told myself.  "In case something goes wrong".  I also reminded myself that I was feeling good, physically.  In fact, despite the frigid sub zero temperature, I was wearing just enough layers to feel comfortable, and I was neither hot nor cold.  It was all in my head.  It can be easy to break yourself down psychologically during an ultra, and I couldn't let that happen.  I kept telling myself that I was fine, and eventually I just started laughing out loud about how insane this was.  And just like that, it was onward and upward another fourteen miles to the finish line.   

The Mountain View Quarantine 50K

The mid morning weather was turning quite warm as I hobbled along the narrow paved path.  Several hours had passed since I began my journey and there were now plenty of folks out and about.  I was trying to repress my fatigue by closing my eyes and taking deep, slow breaths, which seemed to help a little.  I think the oncoming walkers, runners, and cyclists who were the more observant type could tell that I was a hot mess.  I soon recognized a familiar face; one of my former colleagues from Wag running with his dog.  "Nate!" I called out.  Once he noticed me he removed his ear buds and said hey.  "how're you doing, man?" he asked.  I paused for a second.  "Dude, I'm getting my ass kicked.  I'm twenty-nine miles into a 50K" I answered back with a burst of psychotic laughter.  That response was about as close to the truth as I could have possibly gotten in that moment.

The rooster alarm on my cell phone went off at 2:30 AM that morning.  "Rise and shine" I said out loud as I stood up and rubbed my eyes.  As I continued waking up, I began preparations for what would be my second ultramarathon in 2020, but in a slightly different format than what I was used to doing.  My plan was to tackle fifty kilometers (thirty-one miles) by myself along a course that I created on my own.  Under normal circumstances I would have been waking up in a motel room in Auburn on this morning to run Canyons 100K, for which I had signed up.  Unfortunately, because of COVID-19,  the race directors had no choice but to cancel the race with no possibility of rescheduling.  Doing this solo ultra was my attempt at capturing the same feelings of excitement and adventure that Canyons would have brought on.  100 Kilometers is a long way to run when you're on your own, so I opted to do a 50K distance instead.  I don't like running with a pack and I try to avoid it whenever possible, but since this run was going to be self supported, I decided it was the best option.  I gathered my gear, drank some cold brew coffee for energy, filled my hydration pack with a couple of quarts of Gatorade, put on my Vibrams, and threw my pack on, ready to hit the road.  When I stepped outside, the middle-of-the-night air was calm and quiet.  I felt as if I were waking up the entire complex when I shut the door to my apartment behind me.  It was just after 3:30 AM  when I began running, making my way through my neighborhood towards Evelyn Avenue.  The course that I designed would take me through parts of Sunnyvale and Mountain View.  I considered doing this run on the same course that Canyons would have been held on, or elsewhere, but I had traveled out of Silicon Valley the last several weekends to ride my bike and go back country snowboarding, so I decided to stick to my local stomping ground this time instead.  Plus, I wasn't even sure if the Western States trail was open to hikers or runners at the moment.  The only vehicles that passed me as I ran along Evelyn Avenue were two police SUVs, and I soon arrived at the junction where pedestrians and cyclists can enter the Stevens Creek Trail from Evelyn.  Most of the route would be along this trail and on the Bay Trail, which lies further north along San Francisco Bay.  A local hot spot for runners, walkers, and cyclists, the Stevens Creek Trail starts at the intersection of Dale Avenue and Heatherstone Way in Sunnyvale, and weaves through nature oriented areas of Mountain View all the way to San Francisco Bay, with several entrances and exits via neighborhood streets along the way.  The trail quickly became very dark as the street lights from Evelyn Avenue disappeared behind me.  I wore a headlamp and carried a flashlight, and as expected,  I didn't see a single person as I ran south towards Sunnyvale.  Why did I begin this run in the middle of the night you might ask?  I could talk and write about this topic endlessly, but the short version is even though I often run during the day like most people, I love running in the dark.  It's an entirely different experience.  Everything is more calm and peaceful when the rest of the world is sleeping, and yet it's also a little scary because of that fear of the dark that everyone has in the back of their minds.  As strange as this sounds, I enjoy being a little scared by running in the dark.  It makes things more exciting.  And if I have the right music going in my headphones, that adds to the experience.  That, combined with the fact that I would largely be avoiding the warm day time weather that the San Francisco Bay Area has been experiencing, and practicing safer social distancing due to less people, starting in the middle of the night seemed to be a more favorable option.

Upon reaching the southern terminus of the trail in Sunnyvale, I turned around and headed north towards the bay.  The trail remained quiet as I ran through a clearing a few hundred feet from the 85 freeway with trees and shrubs lining the path.  In the distance I could see the tunnel that passes under El Camino Real, which was substantially lit up.  Running into that tunnel from the dark trail was like entering a spaceship.  Over the next several miles I crossed a couple of bridges over roads and continued weaving through trees and shrubs.  In the distance ahead of me, a guy emerged in the beam of my flashlight out of nowhere.  As I got closer I realized he was coming towards me on the opposite side of the path, so I pointed my flashlight towards the ground to avoid blinding him.  He had no flashlight, no headlamp, and was fully dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, walking casually.  I said hey as I passed and he said hey back.  The encounter was very brief and uneventful, but I wondered what he was doing out here with no lights, all alone, in the dead of night.  Was he just going for a walk? Another mind altering affect that running in the dark has on me is it makes my imagination run wild.  I wondered what would have happened if that encounter had gone differently.  What if that guy had been some angry, strung out junkie and tried to attack me?  It was the middle of the night, very dark, and there was no one else around.  If that were to happen,  my instinct would be to spit out some threats that would hopefully make him back off.  And if that didn't work? Well, I guess I would have to just kick his ass.  It wasn't long before I passed by the La Avenida Street entrance to the trail.  This is where my friends and I enter the trail when we go for group runs on Sunday mornings.  Those group runs are temporarily suspended, and although we've been keeping in touch through Zoom and video chat,  I hadn't seen any of my friends in person since quarantine began six weeks prior.  I thought about how much I missed everyone and how cool it was that my friends were making the best of quarantine by accomplishing other feats that were similar to what I was doing.  My friend Scott, who planned to run the Silicon Valley Half Marathon in early April as his first half, decided to do his own half marathon in wake of the race being postponed.  He ran his own 13.1 mile course on the same day the race would have happened through chilly and rainy weather.  My other buddy Stephan was supposed to run the Marin Ultra Challenge 50K in mid March, which would have been his first ever ultra.  The sanctioned race was canceled, but that didn't stop him from running the course by himself and completing his first unofficial ultra with the help of his girlfriend Julie, acting as the sole member of his support crew.  My friend Samantha (or Sammy as we call her), who has her own dog walking and pet sitting business, has been taking advantage of the increased amount of free time she has due to lower volume of business by devising and implementing creative ways to evolve her business.  Ellen, a certified running coach, and one of the leaders of the local running group that we all belong to, has been offering several options to us as a way of staying engaged during quarantine, which involves virtual cardio boot camp and foam rolling classes, as well as promoting our friend Annie, who teaches virtual yoga.  Several of my friends have also been participating in various work out challenges that involve doing ungodly amounts of squats and push ups.  The thought of all these people making the best of their situations during these uncertain times was a powerful inspiration, and I felt grateful that I was surrounding myself with such positive people.

Approaching the junction where the Stevens Creek Trail ends, I crossed over a bridge, which deposited me onto the Bay Trail which was composed of dirt and gravel.  I was dislodged from my reverie when I sensed movement up ahead in the beam of my flashlight.  I was startled, but it turned out to be only a couple of rabbits.  My buddy Andrew, who runs on this trail in the early morning hours a few times a week, advised me that I may encounter rabbits and potentially skunks.  The rabbits stood still for a moment, but when I got within about thirty feet of them, they both began running right towards me, side by side.  "Oh, you guys want to have a stand off?" I thought, jokingly.  How funny would it have been if they saw me, looked at each other, and said, in whatever form of communication that rabbits use, "okay, let's get him!".  But I think they were just running for cover, and they disappeared into the tall grass that lined both sides of the trail after a few moments.  Out in the distance, the lights along the distant shore sparkled on the water, and as I ran along the path further out into the bay, the first indications of dawn began lighting up the sky behind Mission Peak in front of me.  I always love seeing the sunrise after running in the dark, and the sun slowly continued filling the sky with bright vivid colors before eventually emerging over the top of the distant mountains.  After covering several more miles and turning around near Moffet Field Golf Club, I sat on a bench for a few minutes enjoying the sunrise while eating handfuls of trail mix from the bag that I carried in my pack.  A new day had arrived, and I was hopeful that my spirit would stay positive for the remainder of the run.  I was a little under halfway through, and the arrival of the morning sun had filled me with energy.  Backtracking the way I came on the Bay Trail, I headed in the other direction towards Mountain View Slough.  As hours passed and more miles were covered, my energy levels began to deteriorate around mile twenty-two.  I wasn't too sore, but I was exhausted.  I was once again back on the section of the trail south of Evelyn Avenue, and I flopped onto a bench and ate more trail mix, hoping some food would perk me up, even though I didn't feel hungry at all.  Unfortunately the fix was only temporary, and at mile twenty-four, I had hit the wall pretty hard as I wandered through a residential Sunnyvale neighborhood a few blocks away from the southern terminus of the Stevens Creek Trail.  It was now mid morning, and people were out and about with their dogs and kids, probably wondering who is this guy in running gear, hobbling through the neighborhood with a pack on, looking like he's been dragged through the mud.  Shortly before entering the trail again, I ran through an intersection that looked familiar.  It was my street.  The desire to cut the run short and just go home was overwhelming.  By this point, I was about a mile and a half short of a marathon's distance.  "I can just make this a self supported marathon" I told myself.  "That's still a good distance".  A marathon is very tough, and anyone who runs that distance is a bad ass, but I came out here to do a 50K, not a marathon.  I decided I must keep going.  It may not be pretty, but I knew that if I just put one foot in front of the other, I could make it the full distance.

By the time I hit mile twenty-nine back on the Stevens Creek Trail, I was completely wrecked.  My feet were sore, I was almost completely depleted of energy, and probably looked like I had been hit by a car.  I saw my old co-worker Nate running with his dog a few minutes prior, which was cool, but at this point, I was not fully coherent.  I sat down on a bench one more time, in an effort to regain my composure.  At this particular moment I longed for the hospitality of race volunteers and the aid stations that typically are present every five to seven miles during an ultra.  Sometimes just hearing the right words from someone else in moments of distress during an ultra can be game changing.  You can only tell yourself "I got this" for so long before you start questioning your own judgement.  Ellen, who we sometimes refer to as "coach", had texted me wishing me good luck around mile twenty-three.  When I thanked her, and facetiously told her that I was getting my ass kicked, she responded by reminding me that I was strong, and that I could do this, along with some virtual cheers.  I re-read her texts while sitting on the bench and suddenly I could see a light at the end of the tunnel.  Sure, there was no one here to help me in person, but she was providing me with virtual encouragement, just like she had been doing for the entire running group to keep us all engaged during quarantine.  After exiting the trail at Evelyn Avenue, I was now a little less than two miles away from being done.  Putting one foot in front of the other, I hobbled along the road in the bike lane, and with less than a half mile to go, I felt a surge of excitement and kicked it into overdrive.  I ended up finishing the 50 kilometers about a quarter of a mile from my apartment building, and I clapped my hands in celebration.  I was finally done, and I smiled as I reveled in the joy of the moment.  50Ks are always challenging, but this one really seemed to take a lot out of me.  The fact that I've been spending so much time at home during quarantine with limited movement probably played a major role in the struggle I faced.  My feet were pretty sore and I was completely exhausted, by I didn't have any cramping and my legs didn't hurt too badly, which was good.  As I walked that last quarter of a mile back home, I reflected on the journey I had just gone through, with the following conclusion.  That was awesome, but it was very tough.  And, don't ever take volunteers or aid stations for granted! 

What do you "fall back on" to get through Dark Times?

Because we live in the real world and not a fairly tale, inevitably every person's life is plagued with negativity of some sort.  Everyone, no matter who they are or how good they appear to have it, goes through various dark times in their lives that they must endure in order to survive psychologically.  No one has a perfect life, but the level of positivity we bring into our lives to combat that negativity is what separates us from having a good life versus a miserable life.  Many people, like me, understand this sentiment, but others unfortunately don't understand.  Many of us have various forms of entertainment in our lives that we feel we can "fall back on" to make us feel better.  When I say "fall back on", what I mean is if my world as I know it has temporarily gone to shit, I know that when all else fails, I can rely on these forms of "feel good" entertainment.  All of these things make me feel good no matter what kind of mood I'm in, good or bad, but I especially find them useful during difficult times to help temporarily restore that positive energy I had in my life while I push through whatever it is that has thrown me into a psychological black hole.  Below are five entertainment categories with more detailed descriptions of things that I know I can "fall back on" to feel at ease when times get tough.

1. Music

Music has always played a role in every aspect of my life.  Sometimes I listen to music while I'm working, I listen to music when I run alone, while I write, and while I'm driving in the car for long distances.  Music is everything to me and it plays a huge role in relieving stress and coping with hardships.  My taste in music varies widely across many genres.  There are musicians I can't get enough of and others I can't stand.  There are several songs that I can fall back on, but when worse comes to worst, I know that I can never go wrong with Motley Crue or Limp Bizkit's music.  If I'm in a dark place, all I need is to hear a song by either of these two bands and I immediately feel more relaxed.  Anytime I hear a Motley song I immediately think of mountains, wilderness, trails, snow, beaches, water, my friends, the people I love, and so much more.  All things that make me happy.  Despite their controversies over the years and the harsh and angry nature of their music, Limp Bizkit was one of the most positive things I had in my life growing up.  Every one of their records has the perfect balance between songs of anger and aggression and songs that you can listen to and just sit back and chill.  Similar to Motley Crue, their music also reminds me of friends, nature, and outdoor wilderness and endurance sports, particularly snow sports.  Due to the tone of their music, I often connect Limp Bizkit's songs with memories and stories, past and present, of hiking, running ultras, and doing snow sports in the dark during the dead of night, when things are calm and also a little more scary, so to speak.  It's all very exciting to me.  No matter how I'm feeling psychologically, these two bands have always come through for me, and I know I can always count on them.



2. Books

I love to read.  It's so much more enlightening than TV because I can use my imagination and let my mind wander.  Most of what I read is memoirs by ultrarunners, musicians, business men and women, basically anyone who I find interesting.  There is one author whose books I feel I can always fall back on.  That is Dean Karnazes.  His debut book that came out in 2005, "Ultramarathon Man: Confessions of an All-Night Runner" is arguably my favorite book of all time.  I particularly enjoy the sections of the book that contain his detailed account of running his first Western States 100 in 1994 along with his wild stories of running a marathon to the South Pole in Antarctica.  This book, along with one of his others titled "Run! 26.2 Stories of Blisters and Bliss" which is a collection of short stories about his adventures, immediately put my mind at ease.  Those two books are what introduced me to the whole ultrarunning world and inspired me to start writing about my own adventures.  There are many books by many authors that I love and have read more than once, but out of all of them, I know I can always rely on these two when all else fails.

3. Movies

As is the case with music, my taste varies widely.  I love slapstick comedy movies like "Step Brothers", romantic comedies like "Meet the Parents" crime movies like "Goodfellas" drama movies like "8 Mile" raunchy comedies like "The 40-Year-Old Virgin", and so on.  There are several movies that I can fall back on, but if I had to chose my top three, they would be "Dumb and Dumber, Meatballs, and Hot Tub Time Machine".  Three movies with unique and original story lines.  These are my go-to movies when I'm feeling troubled and I know they will never disappoint no matter what mood I'm in.  What do these three movies have in common you might ask?  Their story lines all include nature and adventures in some form, two things I love.  They also have a perfect blend of lighthearted comedy, dirty jokes, and sentimental moments that grab your attention.  These movies are easy for me to connect to and they always come through for me. 

4. Podcasts

Podcasts are becoming more and more popular every day.  No matter what your interests are, you can find a podcast for just about anything.  Sports, finance, cars, fashion, whatever you may be into.  To me, that's awesome.  I love when people find something that they're especially passionate about and they want to share that passion with the community by starting a podcast or a blog.  What I think makes or breaks a podcast or a blog is how personable the hosts or writers are.  If they strictly discuss the topic that they are known for, never open up about themselves, and if it sounds like they're just reading from a script, that doesn't do it for me.  I'd much rather listen to podcasts where the hosts be themselves.  Where they talk about their lives and rather than read from a script, they discuss certain topics, but also go off on tangents.  One podcast that I love and listen to regularly is Ten Junk Miles.  Founded in March of 2015, Ten Junk Miles is a "running" podcast.  I use that term loosely because yes, it was conceived by and is hosted by ultramarathon runners, but I consider it to be as much of a comedy and autobiographical podcast as a running one.  The line up has rotated since the show's inception, but the current hosts are four friends living in Chicago, two males and two females.  I like that they have an equal number of male and female hosts because it gives listeners the opportunity to listen to view points from both perspectives.  There are two formats to the podcast.  One of them is Scott, the lead host, conducting one on one interviews with notable people in the ultrarunning scene dubbed "long run interviews".  I first discovered them when surfing the internet for Dusty Olson interviews.  I had read about him in Scott Jurek's memoir and found him interesting.  After hearing the long run interview episode in which Scott (from Ten Junk Miles, not Jurek) and Dusty talk about Dusty's life as a skier and runner and as a human being, I was excited to learn that although many stories about him in Jurek's memoir were exaggerated for entertainment value, he still maintains the "Dusty" persona that myself and so many others view as an inspiration.  The other format of the podcast consists of episodes dubbed "gang shows" during which all four hosts and often a friend of the show congregate in Scott's basement in Chicago and eat pizza, drink beer, tell stories about their races, and occasionally reflect on current events in the running world.  The gang shows are often hilarious and chock full of R rated humor, swearing, and in some of the early episodes, drunken slurring.  If I'm in a dark place, I feel like I can always listen to re-runs of my favorite episodes of Ten Junk Miles and I immediately feel better.  These guys don't talk about how fast they are, what nutrition plans they follow, how they want to set a PR in every race they do, or any of that crap.  They're regular, every day people, just being themselves.  For that reason, it makes me feel as if they're my friends, even though I've only met two of the hosts briefly at the Minnesota Voyageur 50-miler in summer of 2018.  After all, they've mentioned numerous times that the podcast was created with the intention of having people feel like they have "friends they can run with".  I don't listen to the podcast while I'm running, but one thing I know is when all else fails, I can always listen to a re-run of my favorite Ten Junk Miles episodes.       

5. Visual Art

I grew up in a family and household that was pretty art-oriented.  My sister is an artist who has done everything from painting and pottery to working with metals and jewelry, and she is currently taking classes for product design.  My dad originally went to art school when he was in his twenties and is very talented at drawing, but eventually he decided to take accounting courses to prepare him for what would be his career from the early 1980's up until now.  My parents loved art and we had several pictures on the walls of our house of sailboats, lakes, and buildings with unique styles of architecture.  My mom had several pictures and plaques with Gaelic poetry hanging in various rooms of the house.  She passed away when I was a teenager and to this day, whenever I see something with Gaelic poetry on it, I immediately think of her.  All of these pieces of art are beautiful, but what I always feel like I can fall back on are pictures or videos of wilderness, mountains, beaches, sunrises or sunsets, and snow.  I've thought about making it a daily routine to spend five minutes in the morning looking at videos and photos of these things as a form of relieving every day stress that we all experience, similar to what many people seek through meditation.  There are several accounts on Instagram that I follow for the sole purpose of seeing such photos and videos, including ultrarunners Killian Jornet and Anton Krupicka, Red Bull Snow, The North Face, and Patagonia.  I know that when I see a post on these accounts, or if I Google image searches like "Yosemite National Park", "Colorado", and "Beach Sunrise", I will immediately feel at ease, no matter what state of mind I'm in.  That is precisely why I post photos of all my outdoor adventures on social media.  Those types of posts put me in a happy place and hopefully my posts do the same for others who may not be doing so well.  It's also my way of telling the world to not be boring and get out there and do what makes you happy.  Get out there and follow your passions and live a happy, healthy life!

Musical Influences

1. The Sex Pistols

Oh, man.  The Pistols.  The original U.K. punk band, the guys who started the whole movement.  When these guys emerged in London in the mid 1970's and sang about anarchy and going over the Berlin Wall, people were both intrigued and baffled.  No band had ever done that before and listeners didn't quite know what to make of it.  Some people thought they were out of their minds and they were serious about their lyrics, but the smarter listeners knew it was just to get people riled up.  I love stuff like that.  To me, the Pistols are about being rebellious.  Their original and unique fashion styles as well as their music was clearly a message to listeners that they were all about doing what you want to do and dismissing the belief that things have to be a certain way, or else.  When I heard their record for the first time, it hit home for me.  I love to crank that record on my iPod while I'm running.  It gives me such energy.  Part of the reason why I enjoy running is because it's my way of rebelling against the world that I was exposed to growing up, where people had the notion that if you didn't play football or basketball, you weren't an athlete.  Oh really? Those poor people.  They just don't know any better.  The tone of that album blends perfectly with my feelings on that, and all the other things I rebelled against as a kid.  The message I've developed and that I adopt from their music is "take your oppressive, closed minded attitude, and cram it".  In late 1976, the Sex Pistols did a TV interview with Bill Grundy.  He was acting like a total ass, provoking the group, and even making suggestive remarks to the female members of their entourage.  He was just being disgusting.  Then he asked the band this: "I just want to know one thing...are you serous?" apparently referring to their music and lyrical content.  That was the dumbest question Bill could have asked them.  Of course they replied sarcastically and proceeded to swear at him on live television.  It was awesome.  That only made me love them even more because I have such low tolerance for people being blatantly rude and inappropriate.  I would have likely done the same thing.  Unfortunately, the Sex Pistols fell apart quickly.  Their manager was jealous of all the attention they were getting, and he wanted to take sole credit for all of their creative ideas, so he resorted to shady business practices to do so.  He and Johnny Rotten, the band's lead vocalist were butting heads constantly, and tensions rose between him and the rest of the band as well.  Sic Vicious, the bass guitarist had developed a severe heroin addiction by the time the band dissolved.  During their final show he was, as Johnny Rotten put it "completely out of his brains.  Just a waste of space on stage".  His addiction ultimately led to him dying of an overdose in late 1979 at only twenty-one years of age.  During their short career, the Pistols only put out one record, but honestly, that's probably the way it should be.  That record is so powerful, I feel it would have been very difficult for them to out-do themselves.  There are a lot of great punk rock records out there, but no one had ever put out anything like that before, and no one has ever since.

2. Amy Winehouse

Since Amy Winehouse emerged in the early 2000's when I was a teenager, I always knew who she was, but I didn't become interested in her from a musical standpoint until I was older.  Sadly, she battled numerous hardships in the final years of her life including alcoholism, drug addiction, depression, and eating disorders, the first of those issues ultimately leading to her death in 2011 at age twenty-seven.  To me, nobody's music touches the soul quite like Amy's songs.  "Back to Black" was her most commercially successful record, and it's a great one, but I feel that "Frank", her first record, is still her best work.  She was known to be revealing in her music and every song of hers is like a short story about her life.  Because of this, a lot of her fans felt that they had a strong connection to her.  It was easy to gravitate towards her.  When I listen to her music, it's almost like she's sitting right there, telling me stories about her life.  And the cool part is that even though a lot of her songs are emotionally charged, they're not necessarily depressing.  They always have a good grove to them.  She was not a bubblegum pop singer.  Her music is hard to categorize.  It's like taking jazz, hip hop, soul, and bossa nova and throwing it all into a blender together.  A lot of her songs featured her playing guitar and singing while incorporating horns and piano over a hip hop style turntable beat.  I always thought she had the coolest voice.  Low and raspy, yet extremely soothing, especially in her songs where she recorded layered backing vocals.  Her music is one thing, but what also drew me to her was her personality and image.  Her dark features, long black hair, and the style in which she wore her make up were very unique to me.  Despite her superstar status, she could have given a damn less about being a celebrity.  She didn't like the spotlight and was known for assaulting members of the paparazzi when they crossed the proverbial line.  During interviews she came across as being very personable and down to earth and during her live shows she spoke to the audience and expressed her appreciation for them.  She was a beautiful soul and we lost her way too early.  I like a lot of female musicians, but there's just something about Amy Winehouse that can't be matched.  RIP Amy, we miss you!

3. Limp Bizkit

If you grew up in the 90's, the only way you wouldn't know who Limp Bizkit was would be if you lived under a rock.  During the late 90's and early 2000's, they were one of the most commercially successful bands in the world.  Say what you want about them.  They've certainly had their fair share of controversies over the years, but these guys had a bigger influence on me as a teenager than arguably any other band I listened to.  Some people, especially parents and socially conservative groups, might listen to Limp Bizkit and say "oh, these guys are just angry and negative.  Let's not let our kids listen to them".  But I disagree.  On the contrary, Limp Bizkit's music was one of the most positive things I had in my life during my teen years.  When I was growing up, music was my outlet for aggression.  Unfortunately, not everyone understood that.  I would occasionally get mocked for being a Limp Bizkit fan, while the goodie tooshoes kids would have their boring classic rock or teen pop playing in their headphones.  All teenagers are emotional and go through various stages of angst and insecurity.  While some kids in my school channeled their angst through taking drugs or engaging in sexual activity among each other at young ages, I channeled my angst and aggression through music.  Limp Bizkit appealed to me because they had songs where they were completely pissed off and out of their minds like "Break Stuff" and "Stuck", but they also had songs that were calm and soothing like "Re-Arranged" and "The One".  It was a perfect balance.  They have a couple of songs that I think are downright awful though.  I have no idea how the song "Nookie" became a hit.  That song is ridiculous, immature, and stupid.  But not every song can be amazing.  I think all of their records are pretty cool, but "Three Dollar Bill, Y'all" was by far their best work in my opinion.  I love that record!  It's so raw, edgy, and experimental compared to their other albums.  It's one of my all time favorites, even now as a thirty-three year old.  The song "Faith" is one of the few songs where if I hear it in public I go crazy and jokingly tell everyone to "be quiet!" because the song is on.  The original version by George Michael is awesome too, but Limp Bizkit's version to me is "the" version.  There is so much happening on that record, experimentally.  They were one of the first bands to combine hip hop style turntable beats, sampling, and scratching with down tuned, heavy metal style guitars.  The last minute or so of the song "Nobody Loves Me" consists of only drumming and the crackling and popping sound of DJ Lethal's turntables.  It's so cool to listen to.  There is a song at the very end of that album called "Everything".  That song is a true masterpiece.  It is over sixteen minutes long and was recorded as an improvised jam session.  The song is calm, beautiful, and has an incredible baseline.  The tone of that song reminds me of being out on the trail in the wilderness in the dead of night during an ultramarathon or a hiking trip when things are dark, calm, and quiet.  It used to annoy me when people said that Limp Bizkit were a Korn rip-off band, or that they "sounded just like Korn".  They weren't, and they didn't.  I could never understand why people thought that way.  Korn and Limp Bizkit's music may have had some similarities, but to me, they were completely different bands.  However, I feel that several bands that emerged later ripped them off.  People went so crazy over Linkin Park and acted like they were the greatest thing to ever happen in music.  They're good musicians and good song writers (RIP Chester), but I view them as a Limp Bizkit rip-off band.  I feel like they essentially took Limp Bizkit's sound and style, and morphed it into something softer with PG rated lyrics that were chock full of self pity rather than anger and aggression.  To me, Limp Bizkit was (and still is) about three things.  They're about friendship, outdoor adventures, and having an outlet for anger and aggression.  When I was in school I belonged to the ski club, a ten week winter program.  Every Wednesday after school during the winter, we would get on a bus with our gear and they'd drive us out to the local ski hill, where my buddies and I would spend our Wednesday evenings carving down the slopes on our snowboards.  At 9 PM, we'd board the bus again, and get driven back to school, where our parents would pick us up.  It was such a fun time.  During the bus rides I would always listen to Limp Bizkit in my headphones.  They became my soundtrack for hanging out with my friends and snowboarding.  When I listen to them nowadays I reflect on those days of racing down the slopes at Mount Holly with my friends and causing harmless mischief, along with current day outdoor adventures that I have with my new friends.  Their music is about friendship and outdoor adventures, something much more positive that what the casual observer might see.

4. Oasis

Ah, Liam and Noel.  The notorious Gallagher brothers.  While Oasis, the five piece idealistic britpop band from Manchester has had several members through their years of activity from 1991 to 2009, the Gallagher brothers (Liam on lead vocals, and Noel on lead guitar) were the sole constant members and conceptual leaders.  And when I say brothers, I mean they really were true brothers.  They hated each other.  They insulted each other on stage in front of their audiences.  During their first American tour, Liam even changed the lyrics in the songs to insult Noel while the band was performing.  Growing up in the suburbs of Manchester in an Irish family and having a abusive alcoholic father, the Gallagher brothers were prone to violent outbursts towards one another.  The band broke up when Noel quit after Liam broke his guitar during a heated confrontation.  Nevertheless, they remained in the band together for several years and during the band's active years they had a deep mutual respect for one another despite their sibling disputes.  A lot of the arguments probably stemmed from the fact that Noel wrote all of the songs and Liam was just his lyrical mouthpiece.  The dynamic of Oasis was always interesting to me because I've never seen a professional band relationship quite like their's and I probably never will again.  Aside from their turbulent personal lives, their music has always captivated me as well.  Like most bands that I love, no one has ever quite matched up to what they did musically.  They're so unique that any band who tries to copy them (and there have been plenty) would be so transparent and ridiculously awful.  Each of their albums has a different personality to it.  My favorite is "Definitely Maybe".  I feel like that one contains the most upbeat and positive work they've done, and the album also has just the right amount of sensitivity with songs like "Live Forever" and "Slide Away".  I really enjoy "Married with Children" the last song on that record.  It's pure and simple.  Liam singing, Noel playing guitar, that's it.  Even though they hail from England, Oasis's music had such a big influence on me because ever since I first heard them, I have always thought their music had more of a California sound to it.  Something about the tone and style of their music made it sound more to me like they were beach dudes from Southern California, except of course for their thick Manchester accents.  During all those years in school I would just listen to them and imagine living in California.  That's what their music was all about for me.  The song "Champagne Supernova" used to, and still does remind me of being on a California beach during a sunset.  I, along with so many other people, wish that the Gallagher brothers would just put their sibling rivalry bullcrap aside and continue to make music, but unfortunately it doesn't look like that is going to happen any time soon.  For now, I'll enjoy what Oasis songs currently exist and if there are new ones in the future, we'll see how they match up to the old ones. 

5. Motley Crue

Saving the best for last.  Motley F-ing Crue.  These guys are my all time favorite band of any genre.  I could write an entire post on the impact that Motley Crue has had on my life, but I'll try to condense it while still getting my point across.  I have always simply referred to them as the most kick-ass band that ever played.  I've never seen such a diverse band that takes heavy metal, hard rock, punk rock, blues rock, glam rock, and country rock, and blends it all together so wonderfully.  Everything I look for in music: edge, attitude, rebellion, aggression, but also sensitivity and sentimental moments created from lyrics and musical tones, I've found in Motley's music.  In particular, Mick Mars' guitar playing.  He's such an amazing guitarist!  There truly is no one out there who plays guitar quite like him.  When the band first formed in 1981 it was his idea to down tune the instruments a whole step to make the music sound more rough around the edges.  It was brilliant because it gave Motley such a unique sound, and all the copy cat bands tried so hard to replicate their style, but failed miserably because they couldn't figure out what the hell they were playing.  Over the years, Tommy Lee and Vince Neil both left the band temporarily and were replaced by another vocalist and drummer until they ultimately decided to return.  During their absence, there was a notable shift in the band's sound (to me, anyway) but overall, they still sounded like the Motley Crue I knew and loved.  But if Mick Mars were ever to quit and they brought in a new guitarist, they wouldn't be the same band to me.  That's how important Mick's style of guitar playing is to their sound.  Motley's music is the soundtrack to all of my outdoor adventures, whether it be running on trails, hiking through mountains, snowboarding, or whatever.  Something about their music and the feelings I experience while being active in the wilderness blends perfectly.  I associate specific experiences with specific songs and records in the Motley Crue catalog all the time.  For example, the song "Public Enemy Number One" makes me think of running on a mountain trial and reaching the top, admiring the view far below.  And "Red Hot" makes me think of ripping down a mountain on a snowboard, and the adrenaline I feel while picking up speed (while staying in control, of course).  The music is one thing, but there's also the band members.  All four those guys have been through so much in their lives.  Broken childhoods, coping with life long diseases, alcoholism, drug addiction, anger management issues, jail time, rehab, ups, downs, everything.  As I've mentioned, there were brief periods in the band's history where Tommy and Vince left temporarily, but other than that, the same four band members have remained intact since the bands inception in 1981.  I think the fact that there are four guys from different backgrounds who have different ideas, is the key element that makes Motley Crue such a unique band.  A lot of people who are casual observers would probably write them off as just another stupid 80's hair band.  They're not.  If people would take some time to listen to their music hear how unique it is, they'd quickly realize that they are a completely different entity than all of the rip-off bands that came after them.   I couldn't even tell you what my favorite Motley Crue record is, because I love them all and they all have their own unique sound and personality.  Sometimes it's "Dr. Feelgood", sometimes it's "Theatre of Pain", sometimes it's the new songs that they recorded in 2019 for their film "The Dirt".  Whether they continue to play for one more year, five more years, or ten more years, nothing will ever quite match up to the Crue in my mind.  They will always be number one, and when all else fails, I know I can always rely on them.

Honorable mentions that I may write about in the future: Billy Joel, The B-52s, Outkast, Eminem, Grateful Dead, NOFX, The Black Eyed Peas, and more! The list is too long.

The Long Delayed LAM Race Report

The late morning sunshine warmed my back as I sat on the curb looking on towards the sea of people parading through the street down Ocean Avenue.  The 2020 Los Angeles Marathon was in full swing as thousands of runners continued to cross the finish line further down the street, where their families and friends waited to congratulate them.  I had finished about an hour ago, gone back to my car to change into my sandals and a clean shirt, and came back to the finish area to wait for my friends.  Before long, my good friend Edith emerged through the crowd and took a seat next to me on the curb.  "Congratulations!  How do you feel?"  Although she was in pain, Edith had crushed her previous marathon PR by over thirty minutes.  I was thrilled!  She trained extra hard for the LA Marathon this year and had accomplished her goal.  Although her legs were yelling at her, she was feeling great mentally.  We were soon joined by our friend Nellie who had come out for support.  The finish line area was becoming increasingly more crowded, so we decided it would be a better idea to wait for the rest of our friends at the beer garden, which was being held at a local bar on the 3rd Street Promenade.  Edith's boyfriend, Danny had planned to pick her up, so we congratulated her one last time and bade her farewell.  After we parted ways, Nellie and I made our way through the crowded streets of downtown Santa Monica towards the beer garden.  When we arrived we rendezvoused with our friends, took photos, and congratulated each other.  When I saw JC, my good friend who paced me the last twenty miles at Tahoe Rim Trail 100 the previous summer, he informed me that he had dropped out at the halfway point.  I ran by him at mile twelve and although he was in pain, he still seemed to be going strong, but it sounded like his decision to drop was a wise one.  He had strained a muscle in his hip and feared that if he continued, the injury could become more serious.  Sometimes it's best to just listen to your body, even though dropping out of a race can be emotionally painful.

Getting out of LA took a while.  It wouldn't be Los Angeles if there wasn't traffic, and the street closures during the marathon were certainly a contributing factor.  But several hours later as I drove up the five freeway through the Central Valley, it occurred to me that of all the times I've ran the LA Marathon, I've never written a race report.  So, now would probably be a good time!  However, before I get into how the 2020 LA Marathon went, allow me to set the background for why this race is so symbolic for me.  Saturday, March 2nd, 2012 is a day I will always remember.  It was the day I moved to California from Chicago.  I stepped off the plane at LAX airport with a backpack and a beat-to-shit, overstuffed duffel bag.  I had enough stuff to last me about two weeks before the rest of my belongings arrived in boxes I had sent from Chicago through USPS.  I was starting a new job on Monday and I wasn't broke, but my aunt and uncle, who live two miles away from the airport, were kind enough to let me crash with them until I got the ball rolling, so to speak.  My uncle would later recall that when he picked me up from LAX that night, my demeanor indicated that emotionally, I was both excited and terrified.  Sounds about right.  A few days later while surfing the internet, I saw that the 2012 LA Marathon was going to be on the 18th, about two weeks away.  Initially I didn't think much of it, but the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I should sign up.  I had spent the last six weeks knocking off thirty to thirty-five miles a week through the Chicago winter, mainly for fun, and I hadn't ran any further than ten miles since the fall (this was before my ultramarthon days).  The LA Marathon course intrigued me; it was point to point, my favorite type of course.  I also noticed that it started at Dodger Stadium and ended at the beach in Santa Monica.  For someone who had just moved to Los Angeles from the Midwest, that sounded pretty friggin' cool.  Despite my lack of distance training, I decided to take a chance, and I signed up.  I still, to this day don't quite know what got into me the morning of the race.  Maybe I was having a great running day, maybe I was fueled by the excitement of now living in California.  Who knows.  Whatever the case, I ran my fastest marathon to date that day.  Since then, I've finished the race nine straight times, every year since 2012.  I ran with my buddy, Julian for a couple of years.  He was one of the first friends I made in Los Angeles, and we'd spend our Saturday mornings training for the marathon by running along the ocean through Hermosa Beach, Manhattan Beach, Playa Del Rey, the Venice Beach boardwalk, and Santa Monica.  Other years I ran with my co-workers and my hiking friends.  In 2016, when the race was held on Valentine's Day, I proposed to my former wife after the race.  And most recently, I've been traveling to Los Angeles from the Bay Area to participate.  The point is that as the years go by and my life changes, running the LA Marathon is one thing I can always count on, and it has now become something of an annual tradition. 

The typically busy streets of downtown Santa Monica were desolate and quiet on the morning of the 2020 LA Marathon as I turned into the parking structure.  Once I chose a spot, I made my final preparations and began walking towards the shuttle pickup area at Santa Monica City Hall as I sipped from a cup of piping hot 7-Eleven coffee.  Because the course is point to point, the organization offers shuttles to transport runners from Santa Monica, where the race ends, to the start line at Dodger Stadium.  It was still dark outside and the predawn air was crisp and energizing.  The events that led up to this morning included a fairly uneventful drive in the early morning hours to LA from Sunnyvale the morning before, spending time with my aunt and uncle, meeting some friends for pizza the night before, getting all the way to my aunt and uncle's house and having to drive 30 minutes all the way back to the pizza restaurant because I left my debit card on the table, and getting a fairly restful night's sleep in my aunt and uncle's guest room.  As I approached city hall, the shuttles emerged.  The race had sold out this year so there was a long line waiting to get on the shuttles, but it moved quickly and we had a smooth ride to the start line.  Upon arriving at Dodger Stadium, I ran into a few of my friends in the parking lot while heading for the restroom and we wished each other luck.  The organization had set up several portable restrooms in the parking lot, which was helpful, although I was truly flabbergasted when I discovered that a few people were stealing rolls of toilet paper from the inside.  At the time, COVID-19 was becoming a major public health issue in California and people had already started panic buying toilet paper.  Now people were stealing it from portable restrooms.  So much for being calm, rational human beings, I guess. 

At 7:00 AM the gun went off and the marathon was underway.  A huge sea of 22,000 runners charged from the start line as music blared, the race officials spoke over the loud speaker, and reporters and spectators cheered from the sidelines.  We made our way out of the stadium parking lot and down Sunset Blvd.  Because of the massive amount of participants, the organization starts the race in staggered corrals to avoid overcrowding, for which I was thankful.  Having too many people on the course in the early stages of a race can cause congestion and potential for runners to trip and fall.  During the first few miles, we drifted along Spring street through Chinatown where we encountered a group of spectators dancing on a street corner in Chinese dragon costumes, and into Little Tokyo where we powered up the first hill of the race.  At the crest of the climb we made a right turn past a large group of people playing Japanese percussive instruments.  The sound of taikos being played was energizing to me and I smiled and waved to them as I cruised by.  One of the things I love about this race is that it showcases the diversity of Los Angeles magnificently.  I often jokingly describe it as the best tour of LA ever.  Families gathered along the sidewalks outside of their homes in Angelino Heights to cheer on runners, and as we cruised into Echo Park around mile six, I noticed that a group of people had set up a hot dog stand on the side of the road.  I laughed out loud at the thought of anyone wanting a hot dog six miles into a marathon, but nevertheless, some runners decided to partake.  As we ran down Sunset Blvd. we ran past Masa of Echo Park, one of my favorite pizza restaurants in Los Angeles.  They were one of the very few places in my experience that crafted real deep dish Chicago style pizzas.  Because they take so long to bake, you have to order sometimes an hour in advance, but it's so worth it!  Shortly after passing the seven mile mark, we ran down a hill into Silver Lake which treated us to an astounding view.  Down the hill in front of us rested a panorama of buildings, palm trees, and small mountains in the distance.  I soon passed through one of the many water stations during the race, where I grabbed a cup of water from a volunteer and drank it down.  Most of the water station volunteers consisted of middle school and high school students along with teachers and other members of the community.  Volunteers really do a great job of making races like this happen, and I made a conscious effort to thank the volunteers and tell them how awesome they were as often as I could while passing through the water stations along the route.  As we ran into Hollywood around mile nine, Sunset Blvd. turned into Hollywood Blvd. and we ran along as the tall buildings blocked the sun from the palm tree lined street.  Before long, I approached the halfway point, where I encountered a rambunctious group of spectators sporting Mexican flags with bike horns and noise makers.  Their energy made me smile and I gave them a few hand claps and shouts as I passed by.  It was around this point, that I passed JC.  We embraced in a hug as I ran by, but sadly, he was having some serious pain in his hip.  I gave him some words of encouragement before continuing on towards the thirteen mile mark.  The one thing that irks me about the LA Marathon is the fact that there are mile markers every mile on huge pillars with a clock showing how much time has elapsed since race start.  This concept is very different than the trail ultramarathons in the mountains that I'm used to running.  Being made constantly aware of what mile I'm on and what my pace is during a race has the ability to drive me crazy in a psychological sense.  I prefer to just run and not worry about things like that.  During the first few miles I tried to ignore the mile marker pillars and the clocks, but at mile five I gave up.  Just because I wasn't used to it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with it, and it doesn't mean I can't adapt.  So, I decided to appeal to the resilient side of my personality and instead of fighting it, I accepted it.  When we're forced into situations in life that we're not used to it's always better to try to adapt and make the best of things than to resist.  So, from mile five onward, I decided it was okay to notice the mile markers and clocks as I passed by.

A few miles later at mile sixteen we ran past the famous Whisky-A-Go-Go club aka "The Whisky" just before banking left off of Sunset Blvd. onto San Vicente.  I've always been a big music guy and although I've developed a wide musical taste in different genres over the years, Motley Crue remains my all time favorite band.  I thought about back in 1981 when no one knew who they were and they developed a cult following by performing at the Whisky every night.  Several other bands from the LA scene, especially during the 80's also got discovered by performing there.  That place sure has a lot of history.  Things seemed to be going pretty well as I covered more miles through West Hollywood and down Rodeo Drive through Beverly Hills.  As I ran down Santa Monica Blvd. the crowd support was growing more intense, which I enjoyed because the further I progressed, the more exhausted I became.  The street was now lined with cheer leading squads from locals schools, marching bands, booths from local charities, and local people who just wanted to come out and watch.  Their energy was a powerful tonic and I could feel my pace gradually getting stronger as I moved forward.  Just as I approached mile twenty, I heard people calling my name from the sidelines.  It was my friend Alex and his wife Krissy.  I would have loved to go high five them, but they were on the other side of street and I had already ran past them by the time I noticed them, so I just clapped my hands and said "Yeah! hey guys!"  No matter how many times I run this race, I always seem to hit the proverbial wall while I'm running through Brentwood around miles twenty-two and twenty-three on San Vicente Blvd..  In 2015 it was eighty-eight degrees out and by the time I reached mile twenty-three my legs were so cramped up, I had to sit on the curb and stretch them out for a few minutes.  I was ready to quit because I didn't think I could keep going, but thanks to some supportive spectators, I sucked it up, got back on my feet, and hobbled my way to the finish line.  Luckily, today I had kept things pretty stable so I continued running as the crowds continued to cheer us on.  As I approached mile twenty-five, I recognized some familiar faces along the side of the road up ahead.  It was my friends Corina and Sheny Espino, the Espino sisters.  They were leaders of a local running group called "Anytime Runners".  The three of us along with the help of a few others worked collectively to get our friends Tony and Gus through the Rio Del Lago 100 miler last November.  It was great fun pacing those guys from mile forty-four to seventy-four.  Corina paced them from there to the finish line and Sheny waited for them at all of the crew check points to provide them with food and provisions.  I ran by, gave them each a big hug, and promptly resumed forward progress.  With just a mile and a quarter left, I tried not to get ahead of myself.  Although I had been feeling pretty good, anything could still happen.  At this point, the best thing to do is just keep moving and hope that nothing goes wrong.  But be ready in case something happens.  When I finally made the left turn onto Ocean Avenue from San Vicente, I knew I was on the homestretch.  From there it was around a half a mile to the finish line.  The seaside air felt cool and refreshing as I ran the final stretch of the race down Ocean Avenue and across the finish line.  Even though it was my ninth time finishing, it always feels great when I take those final steps across the finish line.  I still wasn't able to crack my PR from 2012, but nonetheless, I had a solid race, and felt good pretty much the whole time.  I was thankful for all of the volunteers and race staff for being there to ensure we had a successful event.  The dancing dragons in Chinatown, the taiko band in Little Tokyo, the hot dog stand in Echo Park, the beautiful scenery in Silver Lake, Hollywood, and Beverly Hills, all the way to the last thing I saw that caught my attention; a spectator during the final half mile stretch holding a poster that read "You Fucking Did It!".  It was a great day and I relished in the magic of it all as I walked to my car, changed into my sandals and a clean shirt, and returned to the finish area.  I hobbled through the crowd and sat down on the curb, legs stretched out, waiting for my friends to finish.       

The Magic of Mission Peak

Everywhere we go there are parks, trails, and places of interest that polarize the local running and hiking communities.  Central Park is an example among the New York scene.  Several runners in New York and visitors alike find that Central Park is a wonderful place to run, while others consider it dangerous and advise against doing so, especially alone after dark.  Griffith Park holds a similar status in the Los Angeles community.  Several locals enjoy hiking there because of its interconnected network of trails and picturesque views, while others consider it to be overly crowded and too urban.  In the San Francisco Bay Area we have Mission Peak. 

Located just off the 880 freeway in Fremont, California, Mission Peak stands at 2,520 feet in elevation and has become a cultural icon for the city of Fremont.  It belongs to a small range that includes two other nearby peaks and overlooks Silicon Valley and the East Bay.  There are a few different paths that lead to the summit, but the most popular is a 6.2-mile round trip trail that begins in a small parking lot off Stanford Avenue.  With the exception of the final quarter of a mile trek to the summit where the trail turns rocky and rugged, the route is a ten to twelve foot wide cow path composed of hardened mud and crushed limestone.  The first time I visited in March of 2019 it was a chilly, foggy morning with low visibility, but I knew there was something special about this place.  The whole tone and feel of the trail was so serene.  Maybe it was the cows grazing off to the side of the path or perhaps it was the robust, green fields of grass along the slopes of the mountain.  Either way, it had something.  The following day, the clouds had dissipated, and it was clear as crystal outside, so I decided to go back.  After climbing my way up the steep, winding path, I was in absolute awe of the view when I reached the summit.  Mission Peak is perhaps most well known for having a seven foot monumental pole at the top, which is intended to be a symbol of environmental awareness.  It was built with several metal tubes through the sides of it, all pointing to certain Bay Area landmarks.  The 360 view includes San Francisco Bay, Silicon Valley, the Marin Headlands, East Bay, South Bay, and the distant Sierra Nevada mountain range.  The city of San Francisco can also be seen on clear days. 

Since my second visit, I've become hooked, and I now visit the peak on a regular basis.  My favorite method of getting up there is hiking 3.1 miles from the parking lot at a brisk pace, spending a few minutes enjoying the view, then running 3.1 miles back down to the trialhead.  My favorite part is when I get about three quarters of the way up.  The path levels out into a ridge with several rocks and cairns off to the right.  Beyond the cairns is a stunning view of Mount Diablo, the High Sierras in the distance, and an ocean of green mountains as far as the eye can see.  The positive energy, tranquility, and beauty of the mountain form a creative mindset, and I've conceived some of my most imaginative ideas related to my career, writing, music, and life in general while visiting the mountain.  The experience of being at Mission Peak allows me to approach life from a more clear and creative standpoint.  I love listening to chill music on my iPod, like hip hop, psychedelic rock from the 60's and 70's, and cheesy 80's pop songs while power hiking to the summit, but during the faster, more intense run back down to the parking lot, I prefer to crank more energetic and straight forward rock music like the Sex Pistols, Motley Crue, and 90's Green Day.

Despite all this, like I mentioned above, not everyone in the Bay Area shares the same sentiment towards Mission Peak as I do.  Several avid hikers in the community will tell you that it's overly crowded.  This is a justifiable stance, especially taking into account the parking situation.  The parking lot at the Stanford Avenue trailhead is an absolute joke.  There are only forty spots, and parking frequently overflows onto the streets in the surrounding residential neighborhoods.  To me, it's worth the five to seven minute walk to the trailhead, and although some residents of the area have complained about the streets being cluttered with parked cars, my response is they should have known what they were getting themselves into when they moved there.  In reference to the high volume of visitors at the mountain, the most common words of distaste that I've heard about Mission Peak are "I hike to get away from people".  I will say, yes it does get rather crowded, especially on weekends during mid morning.  Some people hate that.  Me? I love it.  Every time I go there I encounter all kinds of people.  Solo hikers like myself, couples, families with teenagers and young kids, white people, African Americans, Latinos, Asians, Middle Easterners, you name it.  People from all ages and all backgrounds.  I have no issues with the crowds because I think it's the coolest thing in the world to see all these people out and about exploring and being active.  Mission Peak has a way of bringing people from all walks of life together with a goal of reaching the summit to enjoy the views and take pictures.  Speaking of pictures, another common miff that I've heard is that people only hike to the summit for the Instagram post.  So?  What's wrong with that?  The views from the summit are breathtaking, and the pole is iconic.  Many hikers pose for pictures next to the pole at the summit, but not before completing a steep and strenuous hike to get there.  If people truly only wanted an Instagram picture out of it, they could easily type "Mission Peak Summit" into Google images, photo shop themselves into the picture, and post it.

Love it or hate it, Mission Peak is a cool and inspiring place.  My response to the disparaging statements is to give it the benefit of the doubt.  Very rarely is something amazing or awesome the first time we experience it.  Sometimes we need to adjust our thinking and see things from a different point of view.  I hope that Mission Peak continues to experience a high volume of visitors and that the naysayers will give it another chance.  In the meantime, I'll keep enjoying it!